


heart to break

by clean



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Canon, M/M, Pining, background reggieronnie/bettydonna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25473457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clean/pseuds/clean
Summary: “He’s kind of a weird little guy, Red,” Munroe says. “Like, I’m not judging you. But he is.”
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Jughead Jones
Comments: 12
Kudos: 121





	heart to break

**Author's Note:**

> do people still write 5+1 fics? oh well. this is loosely 5+1 “times people thought they were dating”, basically.
> 
> by “alternate canon” i mean i stole what i wanted from the show and gave them a normal senior year otherwise

Jughead drops by the community center for the first time senior year on a cold Friday evening in October, wearing two extra jackets over his usual 3 or so layers. It takes a minute or so for Archie to notice, but once he’s done setting Malcolm up with weight-training equipment he catches sight of him from across the room.

“Hey,” Archie says when he gets closer, and Jughead smiles and says, “hey,” and in a move that would usually be incredibly uncharacteristic of him, steps forward and hugs him. He’d explained it to Archie on a phone call a week or two ago, something the fancy counselor at Stonewall had told him about showing more open affection to his friends—in all honesty, Archie hadn’t really comprehended most of it, just tuned it out and listened to the sound of his voice. He’d had a long day, alright?

Reasoning behind it aside, it’s a welcome change, especially because Reggie and Veronica got back together at the end of junior year and Archie hasn’t really been on a date since then. It’s embarrassing how little physical contact he has with other people outside of boxing sessions, besides his own mother. Not because he’s had bad luck or anything, but because, well…

Jughead steps back, his arms still half-resting on Archie’s shoulders. “Sorry, you’re really warm and it’s super cold outside. Um, I know you have a couple hours ‘til you’re off, so if there’s anything I can do in the meantime…”

“Yeah, there’s a couple kids working on homework if you want to help with that? I know you’re not that big on school either, but I honestly don’t really know how to do some of it,” he says.

Jughead smiles again, squeezing Archie’s hand in acknowledgement. “Yeah, no problem,” he agrees, and Archie is transported back to being six years old and having his first crush. He mentally apologizes to any psychics who may be listening in on this mortifying train of thought.

As he watches Jughead introduce himself to some of the middle-schoolers, a set of footsteps come up behind him. Archie doesn’t even bother looking. “Munroe, I promise whatever you’re about to say, I’ve already thought it.” 

“He’s kind of a weird little guy, Red,” Munroe says. “Like, I’m not judging you. But he is.”

“Oh, trust me, you don’t need to tell me,” Archie says, watching Jughead point something out to Eddie and one of the other kids on his laptop screen. Eddie asks him a question and Jughead brightens as he answers, and yeah, of course senior year would have Archie falling all over again for the first person he’d ever really liked. It’s criminal, is what this is. “You know, I’m pretty sure he thinks you’re intimidating.”

“Me? Intimidating?” Munroe jokes, and Archie turns and elbows him.

“Come on. He calls _Veronica_ scary, and they’ve known each other for two years now, so.”

“Veronica could kick his ass. I’d be intimidated,” Munroe says. “Hell, I _am_ intimidated.”

“It’s probably just because you play football, anyway.”

“ _You_ play football,” Munroe points out.

“Yeah, but it’s different with us,” Archie says, even though it hasn’t always been, even though that was exactly what split them apart freshman year. Munroe seems to see that in him—when he and Jughead eventually get to know each other better, Archie’s sure they’ll get along well. They’re both quiet and observant in that same sort of way.

“You think I can’t keep a secret?” Munroe asks, changing the subject.

“You’re probably the only person I know who _can_ keep a secret,” Archie says. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have said anything at all.”

“Safe with me, Red,” Munroe says, patting his shoulder. “I’m sure your date tonight will be fun.”

“It’s not a date,” Archie says. “We’re just getting dinner together.” Munroe hums.

“Still a date,” he says.

“Okay, rematch.”

“Oh, sure, we can go another round.”

“You’re on,” Archie says, stepping into the ring.

(He ends up losing and re-opening a small cut on his lip in the process, but it may have been worth it if only for the way Jughead notices it when they get in the car, gently brushes his thumb over his lip and teasingly says _aw, baby._ Seriously, the psychics of Riverdale must be having a field day.)

  
  
  


Stonewall Prep isn’t the most welcoming environment. Archie usually evades Jughead’s invitations to visit, but this time he’d sounded kind of lonely on the phone and Archie had felt bad enough about it to agree.

It’s not all bad. The buildings are consistently heated, for one, which is essential considering the fact that it’s been snowing all week. Jughead’s there. And… that’s pretty much it.

Archie’s family is solidly middle-class, and even with a one-parent household he knows his mom makes a fair amount of money. But it’s still awkward when the students walk by and unsubtly check out his outfit. He _could_ wear better clothing, but what’s wrong with being comfortable? Besides, dressing well is oddly reminiscent of how he’d acted to appease Mr. Lodge sophomore year, and Archie would rather forget that.

Jughead’s taking him through a tour of the library when a tall blond guy with that classic _I-will-never-have-to-work-in-my-life_ smirk leans against the bookshelf.

“This your boyfriend, Jones?” blond guy asks with a weird edge to his tone. From what Archie has heard of Jughead’s classmates, this is probably the annoying one—Bret?

“None of your business, Bret,” Jughead says, confirming Archie’s suspicions. “Don’t you have anyone else to harass?”

“Just you, Forsythe,” Bret answers, and Jughead leads Archie in the opposite direction without another word.

“Sorry about him,” Jughead tells him when they’re a good distance away, having turned down one of the classroom hallways. “He’s my roommate.”

“Your _roommate?_ ” Archie asks. “Can’t you ask to switch or something?”

“Oh, I’m probably gonna transfer back next semester anyway,” he says with a hand-wave. “Super weird vibes around here. Scholarship or not, it isn’t worth it. And I’m not really Ivy material anyway.”

“You could be if you kept trying for it,” Archie interjects. Jughead rolls his eyes.

“You sound like Toni,” he says. “And I don’t really care about prestige and the whole name-brand thing, anyway. I just want to chill.”

“Like, a party school?”

“No,” he says, “obviously not. What, is Reggie praying for OSU?”

“I have absolutely no idea where Reggie wants to go to school,” Archie answers, then: “No more college talk, please?”

“Agreed,” Jughead says. “Let me guess, you'd rather see the football field or something?”

Archie would like to see the football field, actually. It’s cold out, but then Jughead very pointedly says “I’m cold” and Archie gets to graciously gift him his jacket. So there’s that, at least.

Their stadium is so much nicer than Riverdale High’s, clearly recently remodeled. This is going to drive Archie insane through the end of the season. “Fucking rich kids,” he says, and Jughead laughs.

“I know,” he says. “Come on, let me show you my dorm.”

  
  
  


Celebrating New Year’s at Thistlehouse is as much of an event as things at Cheryl’s house always turn out to be. Archie finds himself on the couch alone with Jughead a minute to midnight, Veronica and Reggie having excused themselves half an hour ago (to defile one of Cheryl’s guest bedrooms, most likely), and Betty having gone to a different party altogether, because apparently Jughead’s Stonewall classmates like her much better than they did him.

The thing is, you don’t _have_ to kiss anyone at midnight. It isn’t a rule, and if you’re not dating anyone no one’s going to shame you for it. But Archie looks over and tries to think of a reason why he shouldn’t.

Jughead’s mind seems to be on some sort of similar track. “You want to—?” he asks, gesturing between them. Archie’s brain probably short-circuits, because wildly enough, he agrees.

“Sure,” he says, so Jughead leans in and kisses him as it hits midnight. It’s not the best kiss ever. Archie’s not sober enough to really enjoy it and it’s over before he can really process it happening at all.

“Happy new year,” Jughead says quietly. Archie opens his mouth to say _I really like you_ or _I want to give this a try_ or _can I kiss you again,_ and expresses absolutely none of those things.

“Happy new year,” he says instead. He’s contemplating saying something else—really, he is—when Jughead’s phone rings, and then his moment’s gone.

“Be right back,” he says apologetically, pushing off Archie’s chest and heading in the direction of the porch. Distantly, Archie hears an exasperated “what did you do now, Fangs?” as he answers the call.

He waits until Jughead’s heavy footsteps fade into background noise before letting out a theatrical sigh. Unfortunately, it seems that exhaling dramatically within a 50 foot radius is equivalent to a sonar ping for Cheryl Blossom.

“Archibald,” she greets him, leaning over the back of the couch. “I know I’ve seen more of you and Veronica in the Riverdale hallways than I ever needed or wanted to, but I never really took Holden Caulfield over there for the PDA type.”

“Give me a break tonight, Cheryl,” he groans. “I’m drunk. It’s New Year’s.”

“I will if you tell me when you and _Jughead_ happened,” she says. “Recent? Or was it right after my dear cousin dumped him?

“Never,” Archie says. “It didn’t happen and it won’t be happening.” Just these few questions are already giving him a headache. Cheryl must see something worth pitying in him, or maybe she’s just having a rare moment of kindness, because she circles the couch and takes a seat next to him.

“Archie, out of all the people I know—and I know a lot of people—Jughead is the least likely to kiss someone without it meaning anything.”

“It was just because I was right there,” Archie says.

“But you want it to be more,” Cheryl prompts. He sighs.

“Maybe. Besides, I’m still not totally sure if he’s. You know.”

“I forgot how emotionally unavailable men are,” Cheryl says, as if she isn’t one of the most emotionally unavailable people Archie knows. Pot. Kettle. “Come _on._ Did I not just see you two kiss?”

“It was in a friend way,” Archie says. She gives him a pitying look.

“I used that excuse so many times playing Truth or Dare in middle school,” she says. “He wears Docs on a regular basis, Archie. I can pay for the optometrist appointment if you need your eyes checked.”

“My eyes are fine, thanks,” Archie says.

“You’d look cute in glasses,” Cheryl adds helpfully. “I’m sure Jughead would be into the whole geek-chic look.”

“ _Thank_ you, Cheryl,” he says, in a pointed attempt to get her to leave. For once it actually works, probably because Cheryl spots Toni on the other end of the room and figures there are better things to be doing than attempting to salvage Archie’s love life.

“TTFN,” she says, smoothing out her candy-red dress as she stands up. “But you’d do well to consider what I said.” As she leaves, Archie closes his eyes and deeply tries not to think about the fact that someone is blasting Post Malone in the next room over.

  
  
  


Archie is spending his free period in the student lounge, trying his best to understand _Beowulf_ before the inevitable pop quiz he faces in about an hour, when Jughead flops down on the couch next to him.

“Move,” he says.

“I was here first,” Archie responds.

“No, move your book up,” Jughead clarifies. Archie humors him, lifting up _Beowulf_ so that Jughead can throw his legs over Archie’s lap.

“If Mrs. Bell sees you, you _know_ she’ll get mad about your shoes being dirty,” Archie points out, but relaxes, settling back into his annotations for Myth next period. There’s a long comfortable silence wherein Archie absolutely does not answer his guided reading questions and instead pulls out his phone to check the SparkNotes symbolism page, while Jughead types something on his phone at a pace that is decidedly inhuman—assumedly texting Toni, as she’s the only person willing to debate him about anything—before Veronica finally takes a seat in the armchair across from them.

“You know that’s meant to be a three-person couch, right?” she asks, and Jughead shrugs.

“You’re welcome to join, Lady Julia Flyte,” he says, and she rolls her eyes in a way that says that line wasn’t up to par. Archie doesn’t really bother to try and understand their references. Sometimes Jughead makes an effort to explain them to him if it’ll help prove his point or if Archie actually asks, but otherwise they’re practically useless, really just so that he and Veronica can try to outdo each other in levels of pretentiousness.

“All I’m saying is that my boyfriend and I don’t infringe on public property by commandeering the student lounge,” Veronica says. Archie opens his mouth to respond with a quick _not my boyfriend,_ but Jughead’s faster. He always is.

“The mere presence of Reggie Mantle is really a crime to humanity in itself, so trespassing would be the least of my worries,” he says. “Also, I don’t think that’s how you use ‘infringe’.”

“Oh, are you planning on going to law school with that English degree? Couldn’t find any other viable options?” she snarks, because sometimes Veronica and Jughead just need a thinly-veiled excuse to be straight-up mean to each other.

“No, my husband’s going to be the sole breadwinner for the family while I make no money as a professor, actually,” Jughead says, looking back down at his phone. Veronica makes eye contact with Archie, who’s admittedly been enjoying watching their little fight. It’s much more entertaining than his Myth homework, anyway, even if it is one of his favorite classes this year—such is second-semester-senior apathy.

He mouths _sorry_ at Veronica and keeps reading through the SparkNotes analysis pages. Wait, the whole thing is a _poem?_ God, he’s so fucked for this quiz.

  
  
  


There’s technically no yearbook classroom at Riverdale, because the yearbook committee tends to be small and headed by whichever seniors are working on the school newspaper. Fortunately, that means it doesn’t take long for Archie to find Betty in the Blue & Gold’s room, arranging a set of senior baby pictures on a blank PDF.

“My mom got an email saying I was nominated for a yearbook superlative,” he starts off.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Betty says, not looking up from the desktop. “It’s a picture consent kind of thing, but I know you turned 18 a couple months ago, so it should’ve just gone to you.”

“I’m not here because my mom got the email,” he says. “Um, why am I nominated for ‘cutest couple’? And who am I nominated with?” Betty finally looks up for that, studying Archie’s face as if to determine whether or not he’s joking.

“You’re nominated with Jughead, obviously,” she says. “Who else?”

“Well,” Archie says. He _had_ been sort of expecting that it’d be Jughead, planning on hitting back with a _you_ know _we’re not together,_ but Betty’s question leaves him with no good answer. She’s right. Who else?

“...Well,” she echoes, “don’t get a big head about it or anything, you still lost miserably to Cheryl and Toni.“

“Expected,” Archie says. “They’re kind of RHS’ power couple, third year running.” Betty shrugs, looking a little wistful.

“I think I would’ve put up a good fight. But my girlfriend doesn’t go to this school, sadly, so we’re not eligible.”

“You have a real girlfriend?” Archie asks. Betty gives him a long look.

“Arch, who exactly do you think I’ve been going on dates with since December?”

“I thought it was a girlfriend-from-Canada kind of situation,” he says lamely. Betty rolls her eyes.

“You are _beyond,_ ” she says. “Leave. I have stuff to do.”

“I could help you,” he offers, feeling bad for interrupting her work time.

“Archie, I took media arts with you in eighth grade. I don’t want you touching any of the yearbook pages,” she says, deadpan, and she’s not wrong. Archie remembers one particular assignment—putting together an ocean scene from premade graphics only—that Betty and Jughead had absolutely clowned on him for. In particular, the fact that he’d only had one fish in it. Disastrous.

“Point taken,” he says, and Betty mock-salutes him as he leaves.

The whole interaction doesn’t take up too much of his headspace for the rest of the week—just a little bit. And either way, the worst part is having to convince his mom that there’s no “mystery girl”. And the subsequent conversation where he explains to her it could’ve just as well been a mystery guy.

Potentially. There is no _actual_ mystery guy, Archie reminds himself. And even if there was, Mary’s known him since before Archie was even born two months later—so there really isn’t any mystery at all.

  
  
  


Surprising exactly no one, Archie ends up asking Jughead to senior prom. But it’s not in a romantic way or anything, it’s just that Betty and Veronica both have dates and it’d be awkward for the sake of pictures if both of them were single.

Prom itself is, expectedly, pretty boring. Not that that’s a particularly bad thing—after all, junior prom last year had a body count, and not in the usual way—but it’s very normal. Cheryl and Toni win prom queens, because there was never any question they wouldn’t. Betty’s girlfriend Donna is confirmedly real, and she immediately takes to Veronica. And of course Jughead hates it, because it turns out dances are a lot less interesting when you’re expected to actually dance and not solve any mysteries.

So that’s how Archie ends up in the back of his truck on the banks of Sweetwater River, where the waves that once brought a body to shore are now simply background noise (very weird if you think about it for too long). Jughead’s constellation stories have gotten increasingly wild over the course of the night, but they didn’t really focus on that aspect during their Greek unit in Myth this year, so Archie chooses to believe him.

Every time Jughead looks over at him as he points something out, there’s a million things Archie wants to say but doesn’t. He just watches, thinking about years of friendship and how easy it would be to ruin them, how little time it would take to tear down what they’ve been slowly rebuilding.

Maybe that’s a little selfish. Archie has a lot of what he’s always needed, now—close-knit friends, a path for the next few years, a way to figure things out, help for some of things he’s been through. But that doesn’t change the fact that he still _wants._ It’s not just about physicality—not that he doesn’t also find Jughead’s terrible style endearing, or that he doesn’t want to hold his hands even if they’re always cold. It’s that he looks at him and knows there’s something missing, something that would make him happy. And what else is there to want?

Jughead must sense that he’s stopped listening, because he shifts so that he can look him in the eye, his hand coming to rest an inch away from Archie’s on the truck bed. “You know, I still feel robbed of a promposal, Andrews,” he says, just because it sounds stupid and it’ll make Archie smile.

“That word sounds so weird coming out of your mouth,” Archie answers. Reggie had recruited the football team to flash-mob Veronica, as is Bulldog captain tradition, and Betty had gotten them all to help with some sort of murder-mystery themed scavenger hunt, because her new relationship is apparently just as weird as her one with Jughead was. Meanwhile, Archie had just asked—albeit in writing, because they were attempting to play pictionary through their bedroom windows at the time and he thought it’d be fun. Very romcom-esque, he feels personally. “You wouldn’t have wanted it to be a big deal.”

“I do love theatricality,” Jughead counters, and Archie looks over and is struck with the whole _wanting_ thing again. It’s too hard to put into words.

“I missed this,” he admits instead. “I missed you, while you were gone.”

“Me too,” Jughead says, and frowns. “I don’t want things to change next year.”

“You’re moving to the midwest,” Archie says, “I’m pretty sure some things are going to change no matter what.”

“Not that,” he says. “Us. I don’t want us to change next year,” and a light must click on somewhere because he leans over and kisses Archie, soft and fleeting, pulling back before he even gets the chance to respond.

Archie blinks. “I—why’d you do that?”

“I don’t know,” Jughead says, looking unsure of himself for the first time in a while. And because he apparently can’t resist: “In American culture, it typically tends to indicate romantic interest.”

“No, I mean…” Archie thinks about wanting, and New Year’s and prom and the thing he wants to say lodged deep in his throat. And he considers it all and kisses him again anyway, keeping track of the details, the way that Jughead’s fingernails don’t feel sharp on the back of his neck the way acrylics did, how he nips at Archie’s bottom lip to make sure Archie gets the message. Jughead doesn’t seem to overthink it, which Archie could bear to learn a little from. Maybe having less relationship experience isn’t so much of a curse after all.

“Arch,” he breathes in between kisses, “Arch, can I tell you a secret?”

“Yeah,” Archie says, knowing that Jughead will be infinitely better at giving a name to the feeling Archie’s been holding close to his chest for a long time now. Jughead leans in, his lips brushing against Archie’s ear, and whispers: “I’ve been BS-ing the constellations for the past thirty minutes. The only one I actually remember is the Big Dipper.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Archie says, pushing him away. “I thought you were making shit up when you got to ‘Octopussy’, but I didn’t want to say anything.”

“I cannot _believe_ I got away with that one,” Jughead says, grinning.

“Well, I figured the James Bond movie had to come from somewhere,” Archie says.

“From the book.”

“Someone came up with ‘Octopussy’ unprovoked? That’s kind of fucked up.”

“I know,” Jughead says. “Anyway, can we get back to—”

“Yeah,” Archie agrees, and leans in again, and takes the lesson in not overthinking.

**Author's Note:**

> yes title from [heart to break](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6eC_i6WS1Hs) \- kim petras because i'm gay :-/
> 
> as always i am on [tumblr!](https://englishmajorjughead.tumblr.com/)


End file.
